Honorbound
by Aranel71390
Summary: Pirates of the Caribbean from Norrington's perspective, spanning all three movies. Norrington has always grappled with the possibility that his life has been wasted. Is it possible to balance love and honor? Read and find out!
1. Part 1: The Curse of the Black Pearl

**Author's note: **So! I got _Pirates 3 _for Christmas, and while I was watching it, it hit me: Why haven't I written a POTC fanfic? (More specifically, a Norrington fic, seeing that he is steadily becoming my favorite character.) 24 hours later…here it be. I have divided it by movie. Part I is _Curse of the Black Pearl_, Part II is _Dead Man's Chest_, and Part III is _At World's End_.

**Disclaimers, etc.: **All _Pirates of the Caribbean _characters, place names, events, etc. copyright Disney. All scenes from the movies are depicted as accurately as possible.

[Insert desperate begging for a review here.

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_1: Sharp Relief_

"Two paces, march! Right about face! Present arms!"

The redcoats responded like a well-oiled machine. The former lieutenant strode down the aisle of bayonets with the impeccable decorum and rigid composure of a man who had been a soldier his entire life. The very picture of honor. His heart swelled with pride. What a fine day for a promotion.

James Norrington accepted the sword from Governor Swann and gave it an experimental whirl. His lips twitched into a slight smile. Commodore. Years of loyal service in the Royal Navy had finally paid off.

He was suddenly broadsided by the realization that his entire life had been spent in uniform. Granted, he would never have come to Port Royal if he had not been in the navy, but standing there in the bright Caribbean sunshine surrounded by bayonets and powdered wigs, it hit him that other than the occasional military honor, he had achieved nothing of real merit in his life.

The possibility of wasting his life had occurred to him many times before. Norrington was no stranger to doubt—or self-loathing, for that matter. Nevertheless, this promotion ceremony threw into sharp relief the fact that he had never done anything but serve. Honor's slave. A fine goal, to be sure, but not really one he'd be proud to profess upon arrival at the Pearly Gates.

Norrington's train of thought was derailed when Governor Swann thumped him on the back and said, "Congratulations, James. You've made Port Royal very proud."

Norrington inclined his head respectfully. "Thank you, sir. I'm honored beyond words."

The governor smiled. "I expect your efforts to rid the seas of dangerous pirates will not decline?"

Norrington's brow furrowed. "Of course not!" he said, a little more indignantly than he had intended. He smirked. "My ship is called the _Dauntless _for a reason. It's a mindset I have embraced since my childhood."

Governor Swann grinned mischievously. "I expect your efforts to win my daughter's heart will not diminish either."

Norrington bowed his head to conceal the hint of color in his cheeks. All he could muster was, "No."

The old man smiled with paternal pride. "A smart match," he said to himself.

Norrington's face went blank as he tried to summon the gall to speak. "Have you ever wondered whether your life has been in vain?" he mused.

Governor Swann cocked his head, gigantic curly wig bobbing in a ridiculous fashion. "What do you mean?"

Norrington blinked, drawing a painful sigh. "I think I've spent too much time in the King's service. I grew up in Windsor, not even a mile from his castle. Have I ever told you that? My father was…away much of the time. My mother wanted me to stay with her and help care for my sisters, but the prospect of sailing for months at a time, wearing fancy frocks, and earning the respect and adoration of all of England was too great a temptation for me. I joined the Royal Navy when I was fourteen years old, and I've never looked back. I never saw my sisters grow up. I never spent enough time with my mother. I haven't loved anyone. I'm…a machine." He looked up suddenly, thoroughly embarrassed. "Forgive me. I've forgotten my place."

The governor put on a smile that Norrington knew was forced. "No, not at all," he assured him. "Today is your special day. Try to enjoy it. Set aside your honor for awhile and just relax."

Norrington grinned mirthlessly. "Believe me, sir, if I could ignore my honor even for an instant, I would."

The governor nodded awkwardly and turned to go, clearly made uneasy by Norrington's impromptu divulgence. "Well, congratulations again, Commodore. Take care of that fine sword of yours."

Norrington nodded. "I shall."

----------

"Enough," Norrington muttered nervously. "Enough of this."

The string trio seemed deafening. The violin screamed above the cello like a soprano from hell as he stepped toward Elizabeth Swann. She was stunningly beautiful, as always. Was that a new dress? His heart pounded. _Stop, _he thought. _Don't. Stop right there. Don't even try it. _The feet kept walking, then the mouth started going.

"May I have a moment?"

Up to the battlements. No, not away from the crowd! Horrible idea, just horrible. But now she was walking; he couldn't back down now. Dammit. Disaster loomed like black sails. Elizabeth looked like she could throw up at any moment. She was feverishly and inexplicably fanning herself, despite the mild Caribbean morning.

"Uh, you look lovely, Elizabeth," he said lamely. She nodded and smiled painfully. Norrington started pacing anxiously. He nervously fiddled with the diamond ring in his pocket, afraid to pursue his stupid little dream any further. _Change the subject, change the subject. Don't turn your back on her, you coward! No, don't change the subject, just don't change it to— _"I, uh, apologize if I seem forward, but I…must speak my mind." He hesitated. Last chance to bale out. His heartbeat seemed deafening, and he was almost certain his knees would give out and he'd end up sprawled all over the battlements, undoubtedly ruining his nice new frock. "This promotion throws into sharp relief that which I have not yet achieved." He looked over his shoulder at her, his expression earnest and hopeful. "A marriage to a fine woman." Elizabeth looked panicked. Odd. "You have become a fine woman, Elizabeth."

"I can't breathe," Elizabeth whispered.

Norrington turned his back on her and smiled tensely. "Yes, I…I'm a bit nervous myself," he admitted.

He turned around, both eager and fearful to hear her answer. Much to his surprise, Elizabeth had vanished. "Elizabeth?" He glanced over the side of the battlement. A lacy circle of foam rippled the sea below. He felt panic rise within his chest and choke him like a corset. He gripped the wall and shouted, "Elizabeth!"

----------

Norrington anxiously paced the battlements in the solitude of the night. He had anticipated an exciting day, possibly even the best day of his life. It had been terrible, one botched attempt after another. It was a miracle he had not tripped on his way to accept his sword.

Elizabeth had always been a little distant with him. He had seen her gaze amorously at that stupid blacksmith many times, but she had never been cold toward him before. She had always been at the very least polite; occasionally she even reciprocated. His proposal could not have gone worse. He suspected Elizabeth's corset was only partly to blame for her chilly reception. He had been beating himself up over it all day. Obviously, he had done something wrong. He had clearly offended her somehow at some point. How the hell had she fallen? As if things hadn't been uncomfortable enough! Thank God nothing had happened to her…

"Nothing" included being rescued by a filthy, washed-up pirate. The shock of seeing Elizabeth sprawled on the deck, wet as a drowned rat, in nothing but her chemise—and with a random pirate drooling over her—had really added to the misery of the day. At least Captain Jack Sparrow had not escaped. At least he was safely behind bars awaiting the gallows like every pirate deserved.

Norrington was startled by the sudden and untimely appearance of Governor Swann. Awkward. "Commodore," he said, far too loudly for the time of night. "You aren't on watch duty, are you?"

"No," Norrington said. "I find a night walk clears my mind. We've all had a stressful day. Elizabeth in particular, I'm sure."

"Has my daughter given you an answer yet?"

Norrington hung his head glumly. "No, she hasn't."

"Well, she has had a very trying day." The governor glanced at the gathering storm clouds. "Ghastly weather, don't you think?"

"Bleak," Norrington agreed half-heartedly, "very bleak." How fitting.

Governor Swann stopped. "What's that?"

Norrington paused. He could hear a faint whistling sound. He recognized it in an instant. "Cannon fire!" he shouted, tackling the governor. Sure enough, the wall beside them blew out. "Return fire!" he bellowed.

Before long, the battlements were well-stocked with both cannons and soldiers. Norrington instantly assumed leadership, cool and calculative under pressure as always. "Sight the muzzle flash!" he ordered. "I need a full spread, fore and aft! Governor! Barricade yourself in my office." Governor Swann cowered fearfully, hiding under his gigantic wig. "That's an order!" Norrington snapped at him. He singled out two guards to protect the governor. "Mr. Murtogg, Mr. Mullroy, escort the governor home."

"Yes, sir," Murtogg said dutifully, leading the governor by the elbow down the battlements.

"And make sure Elizabeth is safe!" Norrington yelled after them. He drew a shuddering sigh and surveyed the smoke-veiled ship that sat in the harbor below like a black ghost. "God, make sure she's safe…"

----------

A bleak sunrise was the only evidence that dawn had arrived. Port Royal lay in shambles. Norrington anxiously sought out Murtogg and Mullroy and demanded, "Where is Elizabeth?"

Before either could reply, Governor Swann burst into the courtyard and bawled, "They've taken her! They've taken my daughter!"

A lead weight dropped in the pit of Norrington's stomach. He clenched his teeth. "We'll get her back," he vowed. "We'll dispatch every damned ship in this harbor; we will bring her back!" He turned on his heel. "Gillette!" he barked. "Prepare the _Dauntless _to sail!"

"It's no use," the governor said forlornly. "We'll never find her; how do we even know where she's gone?"

Norrington unfurled a map on a nearby table. He placed a finger over Port Royal, thinking. "The only way out of here is east. They'll probably go to Tortuga next; it's a hornet's nest of pirate scum."

Will Turner suddenly burst onto the scene, hot-headed as always. "They've taken her! They've taken Elizabeth!" he blustered. Always the last one to hear the latest news.

"Mr. Murtogg, remove this man," Norrington said calmly, tracing a possible route with his index finger.

Will shrugged the guard away. "We have to hunt her down! We must save her!"

"And where do you propose we start?" the governor interjected. "If you have any information concerning my daughter, please, share it!"

"That…Jack Sparrow," Murtogg said uncertainly. "He talked about the _Black Pearl_."

"Mentioned it is more what he did," Mullroy clarified.

"Ask him where it is!" Will said. "Make a deal with him; he can lead us to it."

"No," Norrington said dismissively. "The pirates who invaded this fort left Sparrow locked in his cell; ergo they are not his allies. Governor, we will establish their most likely course—"

He was interrupted by the thunk of a hatchet in the table. "That's not good enough!" Will shouted.

Norrington calmly removed the hatchet from the table. "Mr. Turner, you are not a military man, you are not a sailor—you are a blacksmith. This is _not _the time for rash actions!" He seized Will by the arm and led him away. "Do not make the mistake of thinking you are the only man here who cares for Elizabeth."

He stuffed the hatchet into Will's arms and bitterly returned to his map. This whole situation had thrown into sharp relief his utter incompetence in the face of real danger. Sure, everything had gone just _fine _last night—but where was Elizabeth? What good was he if he could not protect her? He leaned heavily on the edge of the table. Splinters bit into his palms. Some man of honor he was. He was just a machine. An unthinking, unfeeling machine.

"As I was saying," he said suddenly, "their most likely course is east. Gillette! Get the _Dauntless _ready to make way! Every moment of delay diminishes the chance of rescue!"

----------

_2: Where Her Heart Truly Lies_

Norrington leaned on the rail of the _Dauntless_, feeling more than a little downtrodden. Over two weeks at sea and not even a sail on the horizon. He was beginning to wonder whether he would ever see Elizabeth again. Will had already disappeared after her, along with that Sparrow fellow. At least they were out of the way and could not hinder a professional search this way.

He snapped to attention when he noticed a tendril of smoke on the horizon. After a few seconds, an enormous column of fire exploded beneath it. "Governor!" he called excitedly. "I think I see something!"

Governor Swann shaded his eyes with one chubby hand. "Elizabeth," he breathed.

"Gillette! Four degrees west!"

Sure enough, standing on the tiny spit of land, sooty-faced, with a gaping Jack Sparrow beside her, was Elizabeth Swann. "Father!" she yelled, throwing herself into his arms. Norrington stood by while the two had a heartfelt father-daughter reunion.

He smiled when she finally looked up at him and bowed his head. "Miss Turner," he acknowledged respectfully. He couldn't help but break good form. He surged forward and threw his arms around her, hugging her close. "Elizabeth, thank God," he murmured in her ear. He hugged her tighter. "We've been searching for days. God, I thought I'd never see you again."

"Thank you, James," she answered. She wouldn't return the hug.

----------

Elizabeth was her usual fiery self when they returned to the _Dauntless._ As expected, Governor Swann planned on returning to Port Royal—a reasonable proposition which Elizabeth vehemently opposed. "But we have to save Will!" she insisted. Norrington cringed inwardly. Still pining over the stupid blacksmith.

"No," Governor Swann said curtly. "You're safe now. We will return to Port Royal immediately, not go gallivanting after pirates!"

"Then we condemn him to death!"

"The boy's fate is regrettable. But then, so was his decision to engage in piracy," her father said bitterly.

"To rescue me! To prevent anything from happening to me!" Elizabeth argued.

"If I may be so bold as to inject my professional opinion," Jack said, gingerly stepping forward. Norrington groaned inwardly. Something nonsensical was surely looming. Jack leered in Norrington's face. His breath smelled like onions and cheap alcohol. "The _Pearl_ was listing near the scabbards after the battle; it's very unlikely she'll make good time. Think about it. The _Black Pearl._ The last _real _pirate threat in the Caribbean, mate." He grinned maniacally. "How can you pass that up?"

Norrington gave the pirate a long look. "By remembering that I serve others, Mr. Sparrow, not only myself," he said icily.

"Commodore, I beg you, please do this," Elizabeth said, following Norrington to the helm. "For me. As a wedding gift."

Norrington turned, butterflies rising in his stomach. He was vaguely aware of his jaw dropping.

"Elizabeth, are you accepting the commodore's proposal?" Governor Swann asked disbelievingly.

Elizabeth trained her beautiful eyes on him. Norrington could feel his pulse quicken. "I am," she said firmly.

"A wedding? I love weddings! Drinks all around!" the pirate squawked. Norrington shot him a death glare. "I know…clap him in irons, right?"

Norrington strode down the steps toward him, barely able to contain his excitement. "Mr. Sparrow, you will accompany these fine men to the helm and provide us with the bearing to Isla de Muerta. You will then spend the rest of the voyage contemplating all possible meanings of the phrase 'silent as the grave.' Do I make myself clear?"

"Inescapably clear," Jack said breathily.

----------

"Let's see," Norrington muttered as he rifled through the wardrobe in his cabin, "I think I still have a few old frocks in here…"

"You don't have to, really," Elizabeth said quickly. She stood in the doorway, anxiously wringing her hands. She would not come into the cabin.

"Aha!" Norrington grabbed a red military jacket from the bottom of his wardrobe, making an effort to beat the dust out of it. He handed it to Elizabeth, smiling sheepishly. "Here. I'm afraid it has a few wrinkles, and it won't do a thing for your figure, but it's better than nothing.

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, favoring him with a genuine smile as she shrugged into the old coat.

Norrington could not suppress a smile. "Somehow you manage to look stunning even in that old rag," he said. "I shall bore you with tales of our daring rescue mission later. You may sleep in my cabin tonight if you wish. I'm sure you must be exhausted."

"I am," she said, yawning as if on cue. "I can't thank you enough, James."

"You don't need to. I'm just relieved to see you alive." His face broke into a smile. "I'm so happy you accepted. I was so afraid you wouldn't." He happened to glance into her eyes and was instantly enraptured. Even in her filthy state, his fiancée was even more beautiful than he had remembered. He leaned forward to kiss her goodnight, but she turned away and leapt into bed. He made his way toward the door, a little disappointed. "Good night, Elizabeth," he said. He hesitated. "I love you."

"I know you do, James," she said quietly.

He extinguished her lamp and stepped outside, closing the door quietly behind him. Then he slammed his fist against the railing above him in exasperation. "Where was the honor in that?" he muttered bitterly. A passing guard glanced curiously at him. "You, soldier, I want a guard on this door at all times. No one disturbs Miss Swann, understand?"

----------

After a night of stressful battle and a few harrowing days at sea, Norrington finally found himself back in Port Royal. What better way to celebrate his homecoming—and the upcoming wedding—than a pirate hanging? And what better pirate to hang than Jack Sparrow himself? The long arm of justice could reach even islands nobody could find, it seemed. The only regrettable part of this ending was the utter lack of repercussions for Will. Rather than receiving a spot beside Jack on the gallows, he had been rewarded with a fancy new hat. No one seemed to recall that the whelp had in fact turned pirate himself. No one should escape judgment.

He stood with the governor and his fiancée, listening to the hangman read off the lengthy list of Jack's crimes. Rather impressive ones, frankly.

He grew uneasy when Will suddenly appeared before them, foppish hat and all. "Governor Swann, Commodore," he acknowledged. "Elizabeth. I should have told you every day from the moment I met you. I love you."

Norrington glanced uneasily at Elizabeth as Will disappeared into the crowd. The drums quickened along with his pulse.

"I can't breathe," Elizabeth gasped, fainting. Norrington leapt forward to help her. The crowd made a collective noise of astonishment.

_Oh, bloody hell, _Norrington thought. Will had sabotaged the hanging and was presently hacking away at the hangman. The two pirates were soon surrounded and subdued, but not before they had caused a considerable disturbance. Norrington pointed his sword at Will's throat and said irritably, "I thought we might have to endure some manner of ill-conceived escape attempt, but not from you."

"On our return to Port Royal, I granted you clemency," the governor whined. "And this is how you thank me? By throwing in your lot with him? He's a pirate!"

"And a good man!" Will blustered. "If all I have achieved here is that the hangman will earn two pairs of boots instead of one, so be it. At least my conscience will be clear."

Thank God, the whelp had come to his senses. At the least opportune moment, of course. "You forget your place, Turner," Norrington said fiercely.

"It's right here, between you and Jack."

Elizabeth broke into the ring of bayonets to stand beside the two pirates. "As is mine," she proclaimed.

Norrington blinked, stunned. He could hardly speak. Hardly think. He forced himself to say something to cover up his sudden shock. "So this is where your heart truly lies, then?" he mumbled shakily.

Elizabeth nodded. "It is."

His gaze fell. The words were enough to kill him. Jack started yammering about something. He leered in Norrington's face, saying something about rooting for him. Norrington hardly heard any of it. He was crushed.

Jack leapt onto the battlements and crowed, "Friends, this is the day that you will always remember as the day that—" The pirate tripped and tumbled off the battlements to the sea below.

"Idiot!" Gillette laughed, peering over the edge. "He has nowhere to go but back to the noose!"

Right on cue, a ship appeared on the horizon. Of course.

"What's your plan of action? Sir?"

Norrington was speechless. His mind could hardly piece together all that had just happened. Apparently these battlements were permanently cursed with bad luck and faulty gravity. The governor started spewing platitudes, as he was apt to do in situations like this. After awhile, Norrington found his voice again.

"Mr. Turner!" he barked. He removed his sword from its sheath. "This is a beautiful sword. I would expect the man who made it to show the same care and devotion in every aspect of his life."

"Thank you," Will said smugly.

"Commodore! What about Sparrow?" Gillette demanded.

Norrington forced a mirthless smile. "I think we can afford to give him one day's head start."

----------

Norrington tore into his study like a hurricane. He ripped a map from the wall, knocked all the books off of his desk with a swipe of his arm, hurled a tray of tea to the floor. "Turner!" he bellowed, hurling an inkwell at the wall. He finally slumped in his chair and collapsed on his desk in despair. He took the ring out of his pocket and turned it in the light. How could this have happened? How could she prefer a bloody _pirate_ over him? Maybe if he talked to her… No, no time for that. He and his men would have to sail in the morning so they could catch Sparrow. He couldn't decide which was worse, the pirates themselves or his eternal moral—not to mention legal—obligation to hunt them down. Ever honor-bound.

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_R&R, my loves! Onto Part II!_


	2. Part 2: Dead Man's Chest

**The author speaks: **Part II: _Dead Man's Chest…_plus a little bit about Tripoli that I decided to stick in the beginning. Enjoi.

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_1: Off the Shores of Tripoli_

Norrington sat pensively in his cabin onboard the _Dauntless_, staring at the diamond ring that was glinting at him from the table. The whale oil lamp above his head swung back and forth in a most inauspicious fashion, threatening to turn the luxurious cabin into his funeral pyre. Norrington was beginning to wonder whether that wouldn't be such a bad outcome after all.

He and his men had been chasing Jack Sparrow for months. The _Black Pearl _was nigh uncatchable. Her inky sails were always just visible on the horizon. Close, but never close enough. Just like everything else.

Gillette burst breathlessly into the cabin. Norrington could tell by his expression that their quarry was close. The lieutenant did not speak immediately; he stood swaying in time with the oil lamp for a few tense seconds before he said, "The _Black Pearl _is nearby, sir."

Norrington's lips stretched into a smug smirk. "Excellent. Get them in range of the long nines and sink them."

Gillette looked suddenly grim. "With all due respect, sir, I think we should defer all attacks to tomorrow. There seems to be a storm brewing off Tripoli."

"I haven't chased Sparrow all the way to bloody Tripoli to watch him escape!" Norrington said fiercely.

"Maybe we should let this one go," Gillette said cautiously. "It isn't worth our lives. Sparrow isn't even in British waters anymore."

Norrington slammed his fist on the table, making the diamond ring jump up. "He is a pirate," he said through gritted teeth. "Every pirate must be brought to justice. A short drop and a sudden stop, if you know what I mean. They are an unforgivable burden on society." He fell silent. "I should know. My father was just like him. We were poor, we were alone, and we hardly ever saw him. He was drunk out of his mind every time we did. I learned to hate him, hate him for not being there, hate him even more when he was. My mother cried every night over him, but he never changed. The only way to change a pirate is to kill him, make no mistake."

"I…don't think sinking the _Black Pearl _will compensate for your father, sir."

Norrington looked up and said sharply, "I never said it would! Nothing will! But I will personally see to it that their whole vile species is eradicated. God knows how many poor mothers and sons have been torn apart on Sparrow's account."

Gillette glanced at the ring. "What's that, sir?" he said curiously.

Norrington stuffed the ring into his pocket quickly. "Nothing," he muttered. He stood abruptly and stormed out of his cabin, Gillette at his heels like a dog.

The sky outside was gunmetal gray. Ominous cumulus clouds were roiling in the distant southeastern sky. The sea was as black as pitch. Blacker still were the sails of Sparrow's ship, tantalizingly out of reach.

Norrington absently traced the bevels of the railing of his ship with his fingertips, staring at the gently listing ship on the horizon. Not quite in range yet. Then again, if they fired the long nines, Sparrow would probably turn tail and run as he had done at least a half dozen times already. The best bet was to broadside her. The element of sheer panic was always more effective than the element of surprise. Although, those clouds were quite threatening…

"Brail up the sails! Heave to!" Norrington shouted.

"Sir, is that—"

Norrington turned on Gillette and snarled, "I give the orders around here, _lieutenant_! We will broadside them, and if that doesn't work, we'll blast them with the long nines until we've chased them all the way to hell! No pirate escapes the _Dauntless_!" He whirled around and shrieked at the crew, "Didn't you hear me? I said to brail up those damned sails! I want them _up, _dammit! _Now_!"

The _Dauntless _lurched forward slowly. The wind suddenly picked up, and the ship flew after the _Pearl_, steadily closing the gap. Norrington stared coldly at his quarry, fiddling nervously with the ring in his pocket. The gales made his frock coat flap out behind him like a pair of cobalt wings. The _Pearl_ skirted the storm before them, which by now had gained remarkable momentum.

"Sir," Gillette said fearfully, "I think that's a hurricane. The _Dauntless _won't—"

"Sail on," Norrington snapped. "They aren't getting away. Run out the carronades!"

The _Pearl_ was suddenly shrouded in blinding rain. An unbelievable gust of wind nearly ripped the commodore from his ship. The _Dauntless _tore forward on the back of an enormous wave, her sails drawn taut. Norrington stood defiantly at the helm, his hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword. The other hand still clung desperately to the ring in his pocket.

"We should drop canvas, sir!" Gillette shouted above the howling wind.

"No! She can handle it!"

There was a deafening _rip_ as one of the sails on the foremast tore away. Norrington swore under his breath and ordered, "Drop canvas, drop canvas!" He tore the wheel away from the helmsman and tried desperately to steer out of the storm. The _Dauntless _suddenly made a horrible groaning sound and leaned sharply starboard. The ship shuddered beneath Norrington's feet.

"Sir! We need to abandon ship! The hurricane's getting worse!"

"No, dammit!"

With a final groan of defeat, the _Dauntless _tipped over, spilling half of Norrington's crew into the black water. Norrington frantically scrambled for something to hold onto, but he slipped and plunged into the roiling seawater beneath. Clinging to a piece of wreckage like a half-drowned rat, he could only watch as the _Dauntless _slipped into the sea and the _Black Pearl _bobbed gently a few leagues off, safely anchored. He laid his head against the wreckage in despair. First Elizabeth, now his ship and crew. What more could he lose?

He touched the ring in his pocket. At least he still had his honor. That and a fool's hope.

----------

_2: What Has the World Done to You?_

It was almost funny that Norrington now found himself sitting in a bar in Tortuga, pirate capital of the Caribbean, pensively nursing a mug of cheap rum. He bit his lip to suppress his despair. Tripoli had only been the beginning of his descent into hell. Apparently his commission had been terminated on suspicion of his purported "assistance" in Sparrow's escape from Port Royal. The pirate-catcher wanted for aiding a pirate—the irony was almost enough to kill him.

He found himself wondering what he would do now. All his life, he had been a sailor, a tireless servant to the King and the Empire. Bringing pirates to justice and going to fancy garden parties were all he had ever known. And now Elizabeth was hopelessly beyond his reach. He had lost everything. She would never love an honor-less, wretched fugitive like him. Not unless he got drunk and sang "A Pirate's Life for Me."

The tavern was chaotic. Every few minutes, someone would break a bottle. Occasionally there would be a bar fight. All this was set to the charming soundtrack of an accordion, a fiddle, and a guitar. Everywhere he turned, he saw his father. These selfish scum, all they did was drink themselves to death and betray everyone who was fool enough to trust them. He sighed bitterly and finished the last of his rum.

"More rum, honey?" the buxom but toothless bar-lady asked.

Norrington shook his head quietly. "Is there a bath upstairs, by any chance?"

She gave him an odd look. "Psh, no."

Norrington morosely ran a dirt-encrusted hand through his matted wig and rubbed his stubbly chin, feeling filthy. "Oh. I should have guessed."

"And what makes you think you're worthy to crew the _Black Pearl_?"

Norrington snapped to attention. No, the coincidence was unthinkable. He glanced around the bar. Sure enough, Jack Sparrow himself was sitting in the corner, fiddling with his broken compass. Gibbs seemed to be taking applications for a new crew. Norrington grinned sardonically. It was too delightful an opportunity to pass up. He got in line.

"How we going?" Jack asked his first mate.

"Including these four? That gives us…four!" the grungy sailor replied. Jack shook his compass. Gibbs looked up when Norrington approached. "And what's your story?"

"My story," Norrington said bitterly. "It's exactly the same as your story, just one chapter behind. I chased a man across the Seven Seas. The pursuit cost me my crew, my commission…and my life." He seized Gibbs's bottle of rum and took a long gulp.

Gibbs squinted at him. "Commodore?"

"No, not anymore; weren't you _listening_?" Norrington spat. "I nearly had you all off Tripoli. I would have, if not for the hurricane."

"Lord…you didn't try to sail through it?"

Norrington ignored him. It was still a rather tender subject. "So do I make your crew or not?" A grim half-smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "You haven't said where you're going. Somewhere _nice_!" he shouted, overturning the table and causing Gibbs to tumble backward.

The accordion stopped. Norrington addressed the revolting bar-hoppers, bottle of rum in hand. "So am I _worthy _to serve under Captain Jack Sparrow?" he slurred, arms flung wide in defiance. He spotted a potted plant trying to inconspicuously make its escape and drew his pistol. "Or should I just kill you now?"

Jack popped out from behind the plant, grinning. "You're hired!"

"Sorry," Norrington said with a grimace. "Old habits and all that."

Norrington was tackled by a mysterious do-gooder at the instant he fired. The whole tavern instantly broke out into a fight. He kicked a man in an enormous wig out of the way, his eyes trained on Sparrow. He drew his sword as more imbeciles closed in around him, determined to not let his enemy escape again. He paused for a gulp of rum before he continued fighting. _My, my, _he thought, _how the mighty have fallen_.

The music stopped, as did the drunk pirates. Norrington brandished his sword threateningly and roared, "Come on, then! Who wants some? Form an orderly line, I'll have you all one by one! Come on, who's first?"

He went to his knees when someone cracked a bottle over his head. The next thing he knew, he had been carried outside and was heaved into a pigpen. A fitting end for a miserable evening. He stayed down. A pig nuzzled his head.

He felt someone's hand on his arm, and a familiar voice said softly, "James Norrington. What has the world done to you?"

He looked up. Elizabeth was standing over him, beautiful even in boy's clothes.

----------

_How exactly did it come to this? _Norrington wondered as he scrubbed the decks of the very ship he had pursued for so many months. Ironic. He had wanted nothing more than to kill Sparrow; now he was sailing under him. At least he had managed to find Elizabeth. Even though she was still clearly pining after the damned blacksmith.

"Will strikes a deal for these and upholds it with honor, yet you're the one standing here with the prize," Jack said to Elizabeth, waving a packet of papers like an epileptic. He read, "_Full pardon, commission as a privateer on behalf of England in the East India Trading Company_." He stuffed the letters of marque into his breast pocket and said snidely, "As if I could be bought for such a low price."

"Jack, the letters, give them back!" Elizabeth said.

"No. Persuade me."

Elizabeth said in his ear, "You do know Will taught me how to handle a sword."

Norrington chuckled under his breath. Was that her idea of talking dirty? Poor, sheltered girl.

Jack turned around. "As I said. Persuade me."

Elizabeth stormed to the other side of the ship and stood smiling at the sea. Norrington leaned on the rail beside her and said, "It's a curious thing. There was a time when I would have given anything for you to look like that while thinking about me." He smirked. Not that he _still _wouldn't give his right arm for it. He just no longer harbored any hope of it.

Elizabeth refused to look at him. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, I think you do."

"Oh, don't be absurd! I trust him, that's all."

Norrington chuckled and started to walk away. He could hardly bear to look at her. He dipped a hand into his pocket and subconsciously traced the edge of the ring, still there after so many months. He turned suddenly and asked, "So you never wondered how your latest fiancé ended up on the _Flying Dutchman _in the first place?" He shrugged and walked away.

"James, wait."

He glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "What?"

Elizabeth walked toward him and put her hand softly on his shoulder. Her touch was still enough to make his heart race, pitiful wretch. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry for all that has happened to you. I wish with all my heart that I could change it."

Norrington sighed softly. "What's done cannot be undone. It was an ironic predestination of fate. You had nothing to do with my downfall."

"Still, I pity you. You never deserved this." Elizabeth flashed one of those beautiful smiles at him. "I know it's difficult to believe, but Jack actually has some soap in his cabin. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you freshened up."

He raised one eyebrow. "Soap? Shocking. I would have never guessed that." He started toward Jack's cabin. "Sometimes I wonder whether the world has stripped me of my honor," he mumbled, half to himself.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I don't think so. You're a good man, James Norrington. Full of bravery, charisma, and honor. Never let yourself forget that."

"It's difficult to remember when I'm covered in pig manure and vomit stains," he replied, favoring her with a genuine grin.

He closed the door behind himself when he entered Jack's cabin. He cringed. It looked like a hurricane had torn through it. Finding the soap would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

He sighed as he began sifting through the empty bottles and numerous unfurled charts. He could not put the letters of marque out of his mind. They could be his only opportunity for redemption. He had long since given up hope of Elizabeth ever loving such a weak wretch as him, but this did present an interesting possibility of getting his career back. That way, he could go back to living the life he had always suspected was in vain. The Royal Navy was all he had ever known, after all. Once a machine, always a machine.

"You looking for my soap?" Jack demanded from the door.

Norrington dropped the bottle he held in surprise. "Yes, if you wouldn't mind."

Jack grinned. "Good luck finding it, mate. Just don't touch my dirt."

Norrington eventually came upon the little bar of soap. It had been hiding between a book of kama sutra and an empty rum bottle. He laughed. It had never been used.

----------

_3: The Dark Side of Ambition_

Norrington was somehow nominated the official shovel-bearer for the shore party to retrieve the chest of Davy Jones. He watched with mild interest while Elizabeth shuffled all over the island, broken compass in hand. Jack watched her like a hawk.

Elizabeth finally sat on the sand in frustration. "This doesn't work!" she determined. "And it certainly doesn't show you what you want most!"

"Yes, it does," Jack said suddenly. "You're sitting on it!"

"Beg your pardon?'

"Move!"

Norrington sighed tiredly, taking it as the signal to begin digging. Jack assumed the lotus position for inexplicable reasons Norrington did not wish to know. He almost pointed out that he had brought two shovels for a reason, but then he heard the unmistakable sound of steel on wood. Jack's kohl-outlined eyes snapped open.

They lifted a huge chest out of the sand and broke the lock with one of the shovels. Inside the chest were assorted letters, some ancient flowers, and another, smaller chest. The three of them leaned in. The chest made a gentle _thump_ing sound.

"It's real," Elizabeth breathed.

Norrington grinned sardonically. "You actually _were _telling the truth."

"I do that quite a lot, yet people are always surprised," Jack said indignantly.

"With good reason!"

None other than Will Turner himself appeared on the beach, soaking wet. Elizabeth threw herself into Will's arms and pressed a kiss to his lips. Norrington felt an instant pang of biting envy mixed with an unbearable sense of defeat. Still pining after the damned blacksmith. It was enough to rend his heart all over again.

"How did you get here?" Jack demanded, interrupting them.

"Sea turtles, mate," Will said with an irritating grin. "A pair of them, strapped to my feet."

"Not so easy, is it?"

"But I do owe you thanks, Jack."

"You do?'

"After you tricked me onto that ship to square your debt with Jones—"

"What?" Elizabeth interjected.

"What?" Jack squeaked.

"—I was reunited with my father."

"Oh!" Jack said, delighted. "Well…you're welcome, then."

"Everything you said to me, every word was a lie!" Elizabeth accused.

"Pretty much. Time and tide, love." Will knelt beside the chest, drawing a dagger. "Oi, what're you doing?" Jack demanded.

"I'm gonna kill Jones."

Jack drew his sword. "I can't let you do that, William. 'Cause if Jones is dead, who's to call his terrible beastie off the hunt, eh? Now, if you please, the key."

Will stood up, as if to obey. Then he suddenly drew Elizabeth's sword and pointed it at Jack. "I keep the promises I make, Jack. I intend to free my father. I hope you're here to see it."

Norrington also whipped his sword out of its sheath. "I can't let you do that either. So sorry."

"I knew you'd warm up to me eventually!" Jack crowed.

Norrington sneered. "Lord Beckett desires the contents of that chest. I deliver it, I get my life back."

Jack flashed a toothy grin at him. "Ah. The dark side of ambition."

"Oh, I prefer to see it as the promise of redemption."

----------

Norrington was led by one of his former lieutenants into Lord Beckett's office. He fought to suppress a victorious smile. The look on Beckett's face would be priceless.

"Is there any news on the chest?" Beckett said smoothly. There was some threatening air about him that made Norrington feel extremely uncomfortable. He was inhumanly calm, cool, and collected.

"None," Mercer replied, "but one of the ships did pick up a man adrift at sea. He had these." He laid the letters of marque on Beckett's desk.

"I took the liberty of filling in my name," Norrington piped up.

Beckett motioned for Norrington to approach. "If you intend to claim these, then you must have something to trade," he said smugly. "Do you have the compass?"

"Better," Norrington answered. He plunked a pulsating bag on Beckett's desk. Beckett stared curiously at it. "The heart of Davy Jones."

Beckett raised his eyebrows. "You make a generous offer…" He studied the letters. "…Mr. Norrington, is it? I am willing to trade clemency for a compass. Imagine how munificent I'm feeling now."

Norrington said cautiously, "I was hoping you would reinstate me to my position in the Royal Navy. Your lordship."

"What position did you hold?" Beckett asked, his hungry eyes never leaving the heart on his desk.

Norrington licked his lips with anticipation. "Commodore, sir."

Beckett smirked a little. "Oh, I think we can do much better than that, Mr. Norrington. I will personally see to it that you are promoted to the admiralty."

Norrington was vaguely aware of his jaw dropping. "Thank you very much, sir," he breathed. "I…"

Beckett slashed a hand through the air. "No need. Thank _you_. You have saved us weeks of what could have been a fruitless search. Your service and loyalty to the Crown shall not go unrewarded." He winked. "But leave your dauntless ambition behind you. We at the East India Trading Company do not respond well to threats."

Norrington blinked. "Ambition?"

"Mhm. Have you never heard it put that way before? It's nothing to be ashamed of. Men of 'honor' inevitably fall behind. Only the strong succeed. And you're living proof of that. Admiral."

----------

Norrington surveyed his reflection in the mirror of his new office. His new coat was in an impeccable state of glory, not a thread out of place. Thick gold brocade and sixteen gold buttons glinted up at him, congratulating him on his unforeseen promotion. The coat had even come equipped with epaulettes. He adjusted his hat over his new wig and surveyed the regalia with a scrutinizing eye. It was so good to be in decent clothes again and have a decent shave. Admiral. He had never dared to dream it. The highest rank in the Royal Navy.

But at whose expense? The distinction between honor and foul play had been blurred a long time ago. He had never once considered either Jack or Will a friend, but he had used them as a means of finding the chest. Did that make him a villain or an opportunist?

He shook his head. The important thing was that he had gotten his life back. Once a machine, always a machine. He couldn't help but wonder whether the whole thing had been in vain. A sailor all his life, and never once had he been loved. He absently touched the diamond ring in his pocket. It seemed the decision had been made for him; Elizabeth was still pining after that damned blacksmith, anyway. More of a pirate than a blacksmith, apparently.

He had regained his life and more, but it felt so hollow. He was the legal equivalent of an accursed pirate. Damned to sail forever under the old Union Jack, ever a sailor, ever a military-man, ever alone. An honor-less wretch, ever honor-bound.


	3. Part 3: At World's End

**The author! She speaks!: **The final installment of "Honor-bound" (which, for some reason, is not hyphenated in the official title…irritating)—_At World's End_! Be forewarned: I do not stray from the movie, if you catch my drift. Coughdeath!cough Please review! I shirked my homework for this! (Plus I wrote it in like…5 hours. Not too shabby.) Enjoi.

----------

_1: Choosing a Side_

Norrington absently examined the foible of his sword in his honorary cabin aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. The sword was a pleasant surprise. He had rather missed his old friend; it seemed like years since he had last carried the sword that had been given to him upon his promotion to commodore. How long ago that seemed now, how distant. He had never imagined on that day that he would become an admiral.

The setting was decidedly _not _a welcome change. He had grown accustomed to the luxurious cabins of the _Endeavor_, which was floating tormentingly nearby, along with all the other finely-furnished ships in the East India Trading Company's armada. He could not tell whether the gesture had been a thinly-veiled insult by that sniveling Beckett or whether his influence was simply needed to keep Jones in line. Undercurrent of implications aside, the _Dutchman _was vile and damp, and it seemed to be permanently infused with the delightful smell of rotten fish—probably on account of the captain's cephalopodic head.

"Admiral Norrington," Governor Swann said at the door. "May I have a word with you?"

Norrington turned. "Of course. Come in."

The old governor treaded softly into the room. His face was drawn. It seemed as if he had aged twenty years in only one. The wrinkles on his forehead were much deeper now, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced. He somehow seemed frail. He glanced at the sword in Norrington's hand and commented, "Oh, you got your old sword back."

"I did," Norrington said, beaming as he spun the blade in his hand. "A very pleasant surprise indeed."

"I…I'm worried about Elizabeth," Governor Swann said quietly.

Norrington furrowed his brow. "I thought she and Turner had returned to Port Royal?"

The governor shook his head. "No. I'm afraid Lord Beckett will hunt them both down based on their…histories. Turner's father was a pirate, you know."

"_He's _a pirate," Norrington said irritably.

"Exactly." The old man fell silent, glancing anxiously around the dimly-lit cabin. "Ghastly place, don't you think?"

"Governor, if Elizabeth is out there, then we must protect her," Norrington said firmly. "Surely, Lord Beckett will understand. She has done nothing wrong, anyway; she's completely innocent."

"I'm afraid it may already be too late," Governor Swann said grimly.

"No. No, she's fine. She has to be fine."

The governor looked up suddenly. "Have you ever wondered whether you've chosen the right side?" he whispered.

One of the fish-creatures suddenly appeared in the doorway. "Swann!" he snarled. "Captain wants you! You're going back to England!"

----------

Amid the chaos on the _Empress'_s decks, Norrington seemed to be moving in slow-motion. He had already sent a few men to find Sao Feng or whoever it was that captained this godforsaken ship. Much to his surprise, none other than Elizabeth Swann came bursting out of the captain's quarters.

"Elizabeth!" he said, astonished.

"James? James!" she gasped, breaking out of her captor's arms.

Norrington stared in amazement as she walked down the steps toward him. It was like a dream. He had always worried about her, dreaded to think that she could have fallen victim to Beckett's thorough purging of the seas.

He threw his arms around her and hugged her tightly. "Thank God you're alive," he murmured, unable to suppress a huge smile. He stood back to look at her. She was even more beautiful than he had remembered, even in her odd Asian garb. "Your father will be overjoyed to know you're safe."

"My father's dead," she said sadly.

Norrington's brow furrowed. "No, that can't be true. He—he returned to England!"

"Did Lord Beckett tell you that?"

Norrington's gaze fell. Jones demanded, "Who among you did you name as captain?"

Much to everyone's surprise, Elizabeth was singled out as the _Empress_'s captain. Norrington gave her an incredulous look.

"Captain?" Jones repeated.

"Tow the ship!" Norrington snapped at him. "Put the prisoners in the brig." He turned to Elizabeth. "The captain shall have my quarters."

"Thank you, sir," she said, "but I prefer to remain with my crew."

She started to storm off. He grabbed her hand and said earnestly, "Elizabeth…I swear. I did not know."

"Know what?" she snapped. "Which side you chose?" She tore her hand out of his grasp and stood with her motley Chinese crew. Norrington could only stare in disbelief. "Well, now you do."

----------

Norrington stared hatefully at his reflection in the mirror. "What have you done?" he whispered furiously. This was undeniable confirmation that yes, his entire life had been in vain. He had been given a second chance, and this is what he had done with it? He had deserved to go down in a hurricane. He had deserved to be hurled head-first into a pigpen. Miraculously, his honor had been restored, only to be thrown down again like an anchor.

All his life, Norrington had been a sailor. It was all he had ever known. He had spent his childhood loathing his father, and most of his adulthood had been spent doing the same. He had left his family just like his despicable father to pursue a life of legal piracy in the King's service. Honor. It was sad that he had ever fallen under the delusion of possessing "honor." He had never lived, he had never loved. All he had known was the sea, a ship, and a uniform. A bloody pirate himself. Albeit a well-dressed one.

He hurled the mirror to the floor, suddenly unable to face his own reflection. It shattered in a spider-web of cracks. Dozens of grim-faced Norringtons stared accusingly up at him. Love had given way to honor before, and look where it had gotten him. Trapped in a dank ghost ship taking orders from a tyrant in a powdered wig, as much a prisoner as Elizabeth in the brig below his feet.

Sides. All this talk of sides. Honor dictated that he should send his beloved to the noose with all the others. Honor also dictated that he should do everything in his power to protect her, help her escape Beckett before she too was terminated by a short drop and a sudden stop. Honor! All this time, he thought he had obeyed honor! Betray every one of them, leave them at the mercy of Davy Jones, abandon them on that godforsaken Isla Cruces—and now hunt them down and prepare them for a dawn appointment with the gallows! Honor!

But the sea was all he had ever known. Once a machine, always a machine. He had not been able to bear the thought of living without fancy frocks and filigree-inlaid swords. Weak wretch. His whole life had been in vain, and rather than accepting the opportunity to start over, he had abandoned Elizabeth and run back to the East India Trading Company to grovel and beg for a new _career_.

Honor? This was weakness. No one had the gall to tell Beckett he was wrong, so obeying his every insane order was honorable. The world had stripped him of his honor long ago. Despite his admiral's regalia, he still felt like the shit-covered, dirt-encrusted wretch drowning his misery in cheap rum back at Tortuga. No, honor had deserted him long ago. It had certainly not been restored along with his reputation. How could it have been with so much foul play afoot?

He raised an eyebrow at his plethora of reflections. A life wasted in uniform, constantly staring into mirrors and hating the well-dressed man who stared back—no more. Honor had long since abandoned his wretched shell. Love had never been there in the first place, and who's to say it ever could be? One had to give way, that much was clear.

He clenched his fist around the ring in his pocket. No more, he swore. No more. If honor required him to betray Elizabeth, it would be better to go to the gallows with her. Maybe she would love him in heaven.

----------

_2: Honor-bound_

Norrington made his way down to the brig where Elizabeth and the other prisoners were being held. The captives shrank away from him when he unlocked the cell and said, "Come with me." For a tense moment, they all just stared coldly at him, none of them making a move. They could easily kill him. Norrington wondered whether they realized that. He felt his patience running thin. "Quickly!" he snapped.

Elizabeth nodded to her motley Chinese crew, and they filed out the door. She remained behind. "What are you doing?" she asked warily.

He gave her a long look. "Choosing a side."

Norrington led the fugitives to the towline at the stern of the ship. The _Empress _floated silently after the _Flying Dutchman _like a dog following its master, conveniently connected by a leash that just begged to be climbed across. In true pirate form, the Chinamen knew exactly how to make their escape.

When Elizabeth appeared, Norrington warned urgently, "Do not go to Shipwreck Cove. Beckett knows of the meeting of the Brethren. I fear there may be a traitor among them."

"It's too late to earn my forgiveness," Elizabeth said fiercely.

Norrington stared at her. Her anger was like a sword through the heart. How could he make her understand? "I had nothing to do with your father's death," he said firmly. He hung his head, realizing too late the stupidity of that statement. "But that does not absolve me of my other sins."

Elizabeth hesitated, thinking. "Come with us." He gaped at her, surprised. She looked up at him and said desperately, "James, come with me."

He wanted to sweep her off her feet and kiss her like he had wanted to for years. It was proof enough that he had finally done something worthy in his life. He thought about giving her the ring in his pocket, just as a parting gift. No, better not. Bad form.

"Who goes there?" someone shouted.

They both looked up fearfully. Norrington whipped his sword out of its sheath and put a protective arm in front of Elizabeth. A few crewmembers were standing right above them.

"Go," he said. "I will follow."

"You're lying!"

He turned to look at her, wearing a pained expression. He wanted so badly to climb across the towline with her, but he knew that if he did, Jones's crew would kill them both. He realized now that he was going to fail. Only fitting. He knew she pined after the blacksmith too much to ever love a wretch like him. He murmured, "Our destinies have been entwined, Elizabeth. But never joined."

He leaned forward hesitantly and dropped a tender kiss on her lips, knowing he would never see her, speak to her, or hold her again. He briefly thought that this is what it would have been like at their wedding. It was all he could do to not burst into tears.

He broke away. She looked at him with glistening eyes. She was beautiful enough to break his heart. He looked back to the crew and said, "Go! Now!"

She climbed onto the bowline just as Bootstrap Bill appeared on the deck. Norrington brandished his sword threateningly and ordered, "Back to your station, sailor."

Bootstrap glanced at Elizabeth, who was already well on her way to safety. "No one leaves the ship," he mumbled.

"Stand down," Norrington said sharply. "That's an order."

"That's an order," Bootstrap breathed. "Part of the crew, part of the ship. Part of the crew, part of the ship, part of the crew, part of the ship—"

"Steady, man!"

"Part of the crew, part of the ship! All hands! Prisoner escape!"

Norrington drew his pistol. "Belay that!" he shouted.

"James!"

Norrington turned. Elizabeth was about to fall from the towline. He felt panic starting to well up inside him. He bit his lip and shot the line down. Elizabeth landed in the water, safe.

He turned, only to feel intense pain in his stomach. Sudden blinding pain. He felt his head spin. He could hardly see straight. He was vaguely aware of Elizabeth screaming in the water below him. He sank to the deck with an agonized groan, overcome by anguish and despair. He'd never lost like this before. The dark amorphous shapes of the crew started to gather around him, murmuring that the admiral was dead.

Deafening thumps. Jones appeared on the deck. Funny. He hadn't expected this many people could fit back here. The pain made his head spin. It was fading now, all of it. The vision was the first thing to go. The agony of the sword in his gut was somehow beginning to dull. For some reason it was more uncomfortable to sit in the awkward position in which he had fallen. His vision surged back briefly. He could see Jones looming over him. Oddly enough, he wasn't even afraid.

"James Norrington, do you fear death?" Davy Jones asked, octo-beard writhing.

_Not anymore, _Norrington thought. No more of this. No more pursuit. He was unable to speak. His chest felt like it was going to burst. His arm felt like lead. He could barely move it. Breathing raggedly, he summoned his last shred of strength and thrust his old sword into Davy Jones's shoulder in defiance. He fell against the rail, exhausted. It barely hurt anymore. The light was dimming now, everything evaporating, little by little. Little by little.

----------

Norrington blinked. Now the pain was completely gone. Where had Jones gone? He sat bolt-upright, suddenly alarmed. Where was Elizabeth? Had she made it?

He looked around and realized he was in a tiny dinghy. It rocked gently on the midnight waves, sailing smoothly in calm waters. It was a beautiful night, mild, clear. The stars were reflected in the water around him, distorted by the little boat slicing silently through the sea. He leaned forward and poked the lantern dangling from the prow. The flame danced.

He found himself smiling. He had chosen his side—and, miraculously, absolution had come with it. Finally, he had done something of merit in his pitiful life. It was proof enough that he was nothing like the father whose absence had haunted him for most of his life.

A sailor all his life, and without even knowing it he had managed to work love into the equation. A final stab at love had produced unexpected results, among them a moment of reciprocation and an astonishing restoration of what could truly be called honor. As it turned out, there really had been a man inside the machine all along. Maybe the honor had always been there inside that wretched shell too. Elizabeth had been right all along.

He took the ring out of his pocket and turned it in the feeble light. It was beautiful. No use to him now, though. He shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. It landed in the sea with a little _plunk. _He stared at his reflection in the smooth water beside him and smiled. For once, he did not hate the well-dressed man who stared back. A flawed man, but a man who did not lose sight of either honor or love. Ever a sailor, ever a military-man, ever honor-bound—and finally proud of it.


End file.
